A Whole Different Creature
by Freya Ishtar
Summary: When Lucius takes Fenrir's bite in Draco's stead, no one thinks he'll survive. When Hermione saves a muddy, bedraggled thing from drowning, she doesn't suspect it's Lucius Malfoy, or that he'd bite her. And when Fenrir realizes Lucius is a whole different creature than anyone imagined he could be, he makes it his mission to hunt them both. *poly-fic*
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes :**

 **1)** Diverges from canon at the point of the Snatchers bringing the Golden Trio to Malfoy Manor.

 **2)** Chapter lengths will vary (some will be close to 5k, some will be under 2k). Updates will be sporadic.

 **3)** . . . . "OMG, Freya! _ANOTHER_ DAMN FIC?!" . . . . Yes, and I'm sorry, just needed to get the first chapter of this out of my system, and then I can get back to updating my already open stuff (my vast, Olympic-sized pool of already open stuff DX), so please don't be angry.

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 **Fancasts :**

Alexander Skarsgard as Lucius Malfoy; Jason Momoa as Fenrir Greyback

 **If you do not agree with my fancasts, you are free to imagine whomever you prefer in the roles.**

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 **Disclaimer :** I do not own _Harry Potter_ , or any affiliated characters, and make no profit, in any form, from this work.

* * *

 **Chapter One**

He could still hear the sound of Narcissa's body hitting the floor even as Draco's shocked screams echoed in his ears. In a state of disbelief so profound he could not find words, Lucius lifted his head from the still, unbreathing form sprawled at his feet.

He met the Dark Lord's enraged gaze unflinchingly. He knew he should feel fear in this moment. Rage. Sorrow. He should be scrambling to comfort his son and pull him away from the ghastly sight. Yet, he could not identify what he truly felt in this moment, as all three emotions seemed to vie for his attention in equal measure.

"I warned your family," the serpentine wizard said in a lethal tumble of sound. "It was not enough that you lost me that prophecy, or that your son could not end Albus Dumbledore, himself, but now, _now_ , you had Harry Potter and that troublesome Mudblood of his in your grasp and you let them slip away!"

Lucius still could not dredge up words to form a response. He was far too busy trying to rein in a sudden desire to raise his wand against his master. That was what Voldemort was, after all, wasn't he? Not a leader, or former friend— _ever_ , on that second count—but the one who controlled them all.

For whose benefit but his own? He wondered.

It was true. They'd had Potter, one of the Weasleys, and that Granger girl here . . . . And in some commotion, his former servant had popped up and the next thing he knew, Weasley and Dobby were dead on the floor, while Potter and Granger were nowhere to be found.

And somehow, regardless of how many of the Dark Lord's servants were present at the time, he and his family were the ones held responsible.

The blinding unfairness of it only added to the haze of red he was forcing himself to keep thinking, and seeing, through clearly. It was all he could do just now to control the pace of his breath and keep his features schooled so he would not betray his feelings to the _thing_ before him.

"Rodolphus, restrain your nephew!"

With an apologetic look that went unnoticed by the secretly fuming Lucius, Rodolphus did as commanded. The young man didn't bother fighting him, still screaming so hard his entire frame shook with the force of it, but by now the cries had muted some, just the harsh sound of air scraping against his vocal cords.

"Greyback, he's yours."

Lucius' eyes flashed wide at that—at the words, at the sight of the werewolf smirking as he pulled himself up to his full height from his usual slouching posture. The beast laughed, making a show of gnashing his teeth as he stalked toward Draco. His gait quickened, step by step, as he closed the distance.

Rodolphus winced but held the younger wizard steady, afraid Greyback might miss and catch him in those dangerous jaws, instead.

Lucius watched in a mingled shock of horror and disbelief. "No!" In a move no one expected— _least_ of all, himself—he was bolting toward the altercation before he was even aware he was moving.

* * *

She was in shock, she had to be. As Hermione stumbled through the wooded area that ringed the outskirts of the Malfoy property, she tried to make sense of what had just happened . . . . Bellatrix Lestrange shrieking . . . Dobby appearing like that . . . wand blasts tearing through the air.

Her stomach felt about ready to turn itself inside out, but not from the myriad of emotions running amok inside her—well, not _just_ that, anyway. Hunger pangs? Now? Oh, Lord, that could only mean she'd been out here much longer than she'd thought. How much time had passed since she'd stood inside Malfoy Manor? She couldn't be sure, perhaps she'd been disoriented for a time, there. _Hours_ could've passed before she managed to get herself moving. That certainly seemed the case, given how dark it was, now.

God, what could be happening in there, now?

She remembered watching Ron fall. One of her best friends in the world, yet there was no luxury of time to process her grief, now. She remembered . . . . Bracing herself against a tree as she caught her breath, she remembered Dobby grabbing her and Harry. The dizzying pull of Apparition started, but then Dobby fell, too.

She remembered his hand slipping off her wrist as she was ripped from the room. And then she found herself here. The interruption had clearly dropped her out of travel too soon.

But she was alone. She thought she'd seen Harry, too, pulled into Apparition from the corner of her eye, but even he didn't seem to be anywhere close by.

Wincing, she pushed up to stand, once more. The side of her throat ached from where Bellatrix had managed to catch her with that stupid blade of hers. Honestly! Who the hell brought a knife to a wand fight? Well, clearly Bellatrix Lestrange, that's who.

Hermione could still recall the flash of silver in the dull light of the drawing room. She touched her hand to her neck as she moved, calling for Harry while she went. Pulling her fingers away, she was not at all surprised by the wash of crimson on her skin.

Her heart sank as her shouts were met with silence. But perhaps that was not such a bad thing. After all, she was in a forest after sundown. A forest surrounding the very place where those with whom the werewolves—all but one that she knew of, anyway—had aligned themselves currently lurked. Small saving grace the full moon wasn't until tomorrow, then.

Then, the most hope-draining sound she could imagine hearing at that moment started—the patter of rain on the leaves overhead. With a sigh, she searched for somewhere out of immediate sight. She didn't have the energy to erect the wards she normally would; simply getting the tent set up to wait out the storm would be a miracle with how utterly bone-weary she was after all this.

Finding a spot nestled in dense thicket of trees, she set to work. Keeping to the basics of necessity, and with the use of a wand she'd managed to nick during the commotion, she managed a no-fuss tent with a basin and a cot.

Nodding to herself, she tried, anyway, setting an uncomplicated ward around the perimeter. By the time she was finished with it all, she thought she could fall asleep standing up.

Hermione dragged her feet through the tent, collapsing into the cot. Licking her wounds—physical and emotional—could wait 'til later. She would just get a few hours . . . . Just sleep until the sun was up and the rain had stopped. Then, she thought as she drifted off, yes, _then_ she'd be on the move to find Harry.

* * *

Lucius bellowed in agony, falling to his knees as Fenrir stepped back. The werewolf looked to the Dark Lord, a puzzled gleam in his amber-eyed gaze. Everything had happened so fast, by the time he had his teeth in someone's flesh, it was the _wrong_ bloody Malfoy!

Fucking wizards. If he got in trouble for this shit, _someone_ was going to pay dearly!

Draco was kicking and thrashing in his uncle's hold, screaming threats and curses at Greyback. Apparently, watching the murder of his own mother right before his very eyes and his father's life being endangered had given the young man a long overdue dose of courage. At least that mad bat Bellatrix wasn't here, conveniently sent off to handle something immediately following the fight. But then, she was _so_ devoted to seeing Voldemort's every whim fulfilled that whether or not she'd even care her own sister was dead by his hand was anyone's guess.

Flicking his gaze in Rodolphus' direction, the Dark Lord said with a dismissive wave, "Put Draco in the cellar, for the time being." This earned an enraged, wordless shout from the young man's father, despite his currently agonized state. "As for Lucius . . . ."

Fenrir arched a brow as he turned his full attention to the wizard crouched on the floor in pain. Under the sounds of Rodolphus wrestling Draco away from the scene—the younger Malfoy was putting up an impressive fight considering how slight he appeared—he could detect the faintest sound. A quiet rumbling was emanating from Lucius Malfoy.

Was the man _growling_? Really? He decided to keep the curious sound to himself.

"Tell me, Greyback," Voldemort said, his bony fingers stroking his chin in thought, "the young ones are most likely to survive the bite, but . . . what say you on the likelihood of a man of forty living through this transition?"

The man in question had fixed the Dark Lord with a glare so withering, he knew there was no hope of masking how he felt in this moment.

Fenrir shrugged, wiping the blood from the corner his mouth with the back of his wrist. "It's not a wager I'd place money on, that's for sure. I've _never_ heard of someone his age surviving the bite."

As though on cue, Lucius let out an anguished scream. He doubled over, all but crumpling to the floor.

Voldemort frowned. To think he once had such high hopes for the Malfoy family. Oh, well. Perhaps once Draco's sensibilities had been hardened by this war, he'd see that the loss of his parents was a good thing. He could be the one to bring the Malfoy name into the new world order. _He_ could be the loyal Sacred Twenty-Eight soldier his father had failed so very miserably at ever becoming.

With a flick of his wrist, he gestured toward the doors. "Dispose of him. When you've finished with that, come back for the other bodies sullying the floor."

Fenrir bit back a growl of his own—he didn't mind a little murder and mayhem, in fact, he lived for it, but being treated like a servant was not at all what he'd signed up for—and nodded. The Dark Lord was all riled up, right now. The werewolf knew everyone in this room considered him no more than a stupid beast, but even _he_ knew not to test Voldemort's patience. "Yes, My Lord."

Grabbing Lucius by the collar of his robes, he started dragging him through the house. Just as Fenrir thought might happen—though, he'd imagine the accelerated rate at which the bite's lethal effect was taking hold _was_ , in fact, due to Lucius' age—the pain overtook the wizard, and he passed out before they were even at the Manor doors.

Too bad, that he was already growling at things had almost seemed interesting. Now, what to do with the body? Voldemort hadn't quite specified where to stash Lucius while he died.

Eyeing the tree-line that ringed the rear and sides of Malfoy Manor, Fenrir took a deep breath. The rain gave the air a crisp, earthy quality. Well, if the poor bastard couldn't at least _live_ like a wolf . . . .

"C'mon, then," he said as he turned and started around the imposing building. "Let's find you a nice, mostly-dry, little spot to draw your last breaths."


	2. Chapter 2

I have started my own mini-FB group for dark-themed fics ( _Dark Hearts, Dark Arts_ ), similar—but not attached—to those interested, I have posted the link on my FFN Profile Page.

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 **Chapter Two**

Hermione tried to ignore that she was awake. Her head felt heavy, like her brain had been replaced with rocks tumbling about between her ears all night, and her body seemed to actually feel worse for having rested. As though she'd been boxing in her sleep, or something equally ridiculous and taxing.

Biting back a groan, she pressed her hand to her forehead. The witch pulled herself to sit up before she even opened her eyes, sparing a moment to try and get her bearings.

The memory of last night's scene in Malfoy Manor crashed through her and she winced, fighting off a sudden upwelling of tears. That was right. Ron and Dobby were dead, she and Harry had been separated. She was lost and alone somewhere in the forested grounds edging the manor with a nicked wand.

And nightfall would bring with it a full moon.

Swallowing hard, she pushed aside her discomfort and stood. She'd close up the tent, find a path out of these godforsaken woods, and then make her way to . . . . Oh, hell, to somewhere safe.

With any luck, Voldemort wouldn't let the werewolves run free out here, after all, and her worry would be for nothing. But she wasn't counting on that, luck hadn't exactly been on her side as of late.

" _Lumos_."

Disoriented, still, from her restless sleep, she didn't realize until she illuminated said nicked wand that she'd _had_ to illuminate it due to how dark the tent's interior was. Either she'd only slept a few hours and the sun had not yet come up, or . . . .

Darting to the tent's entrance, she pushed open the flap. Hermione poked out her head and looked to the night sky.

"Oh, no," she said, her voice barely audible and a chill running along her skin as she saw the full moon hanging over her.

Ducking back inside, she considered her options. She could try to sneak her way through these woods and hope there weren't any werewolves stalking through the trees. She could fortify her wards and stay in the tent. Though, she didn't have much faith in that option, as the wards could not possibly be as powerful as they needed because she was not the wand's true owner. She could try Apparrating . . . but, again, with a nicked wand, she couldn't be certain the travel would go smoothly.

And even if it did, she wasn't sure where _to_ go. It seemed no place was safe. If only she had some inkling where Dobby had been trying to take them, or where Harry might've ended up.

At least on the move, she could defend herself. It wasn't a happy option, but it was the one with the most likely outcome of her surviving 'til morning.

 _Imagine that_ , she thought in a snarky tone, _putting myself outside where werewolves might be lurking is the safe route. Oh, where did your life go so bloody wrong, Hermione?_

Though she very much wanted to pout and internally whine about being so insistent on being Harry's friend having been the downturn, this was not the time for wallowing.

Taking a deep breath, the witch nodded and squared her shoulders. "All right, Hermione. Let's do this!"

* * *

Fenrir watched the moon, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth downward. He'd delayed his shifting and wasn't certain how much longer he could hold off, but he'd had to check. There'd just been some nagging sensation in the back of his mind.

When he'd placed the dying Lucius Malfoy beneath that tree, he had been certain he'd stuck around until the pale-haired wizard had drawn his last breath. He'd been certain there was no life left in the man as he walked away, thinking to let nature take its course, leaving the would-be werewolf's corpse to the earth and the animals.

Yet, throughout the night and following day, that one moment kept echoing in his head. That sound of a growl rumbling in the back of Lucius' throat as he'd stared down the Dark Lord mere moments after he'd been bitten.

Someone showing the curse's effects so very fast shouldn't have succumbed so easily, age notwithstanding.

The air was still crisp and damp from the rain the night before, dulling his sense of smell, even with the change trying to edge its way through him. Likely it was paranoia bred from keeping such close quarters with Death Eaters as of late, but he felt he _had_ to check.

Check, then he'd disappear into the thicket of woods the Dark Lord had specifically designated for the werewolves to roam this particular full moon. Insufferable it was, only being permitted to run free when Voldemort had use of their ferocity.

If the vile creature would let slip their leashes _just_ once . . . .

Giving himself a shake—he couldn't let on that he had any such thoughts, after all—Fenrir, unable to pick up any clear scents like this, ventured into the tree-line surrounding Malfoy Manor.

Though he could see quite well in the twilight-dark of the forest, he didn't want to believe his own eyes. Feeling a need to get closer, to verify what he _thought_ he was seeing, he continued on to the exact spot, despite that he was perfectly aware of the truth before him.

Coming to a halt at the base of the tree, he blinked hard and shook his head, assuring himself his looming change wasn't affecting his senses negatively and playing tricks on his mind, either. The recent rainfall had washed away any sign of what might've happened, only added by the occasional drizzle coming through, but whatever it was . . . .

Lucius Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. And Fenrir had no time to search for him, given the pull of the moon increasing with every passing moment.

Uttering a whining growl under his breath, he cast a look about. "Fuck," he said in a seething whisper before feeling all but forced to turn and start off in the direction the ruddy Dark Lord had ordered all his kind to go.

* * *

She hated that she was jumping at every sound. Hermione did try to tell herself that under the circumstances, her caution was warranted. The logic of it didn't make her feel any less ridiculous each time she whirled with her wand at the ready to find her weapon aimed at nothing, or some nocturnal woodland creature scurrying past.

That logic _also_ dictated those very same nocturnal woodland creatures would not be showing themselves, at all, were there supernaturally imbued apex predators such as werewolves on the loose, did not help to ease her nerves, either.

It was dark, it was muddy, the air was almost nauseatingly damp against the bare skin of her face and neck, and the sound of her own footfalls as she took slogging steps across still-wet earth irritated her. She just wanted to get to the edge of the trees and be able to see anything beyond. While she knew she wasn't going in circles, either the bit of forested earth surrounding her was more expansive than she'd realized, or her progresses was too hindered by the combination of her own anxiety and her trudging, muddy footsteps.

Perhaps, she thought with a sigh, if she'd been on the move this long and not happened across—or been happened across _by_ — any werewolves, she'd been right, and Voldemort didn't let the creatures simply run rampant on a full moon unless it fit in with his agenda, somehow. But then, _perhaps_ , last night's rain still heavy in the air just made the scent of lone, wandering human difficult for any of them to pick up, and so they simply weren't aware she was even there, just yet.

Hermione rolled her eyes. _God! Just shut up, already, would you?_ As if her situation wasn't dismal enough, there went her own imagination making things even worse.

A sound behind her had her whirling on her heel all over again as another patch of that damnable, intermittent drizzling started up. Her eyes had adjusted to the low light, but even so, she squinted into the darkness before her, trying to see if there was something out there. Illuminating her wand would draw undo attention to her if there _was_ something trying to trail her, and she had to remind herself of that for the umpteenth time as she backpedaled from whatever that sound might've been.

The muddy earth gave way under her heel and she fell backward.

Hitting the ground with a splash, she had to bite back a yelp of shock at the chilly water. She really _didn't_ have any luck at all, she considered as she looked about at the icy, muddy puddle in which she'd landed. The recessed spot in the forest floor deepened behind her and she felt herself starting to slide backward.

"Shit," the word escaped her in a hissing whisper as she scrambled forward, out of the—what she now noticed as she spun to see it clearly—massive puddle.

Bloody thing was more like a pool!

Swallowing hard as she climbed to her feet, she realized it was actually rather fortunate that she'd stumbled into it the way she had. If the surface of the swampy looking little _pool_ had been calm, she'd never have noticed it and would've walked right into this muddy, cold bit of nightmare. Not that having her bum soaked was much better, but it _was_ better than falling face-forward into the muck.

Now that the surface was still shifting about in small ripples, she could make out the whole thing clearly enough to start around it.

Finally feeling secure that she was not in the presence of any lurking creatures of the night—after all, that splash would've alerted them to the presence of prey no matter what else she'd done to elude them up until this point—she at last illuminated her wand. But she kept the light low, just enough that it aided her in edging her way around the impressive patch of ungodly water and soggy earth.

She rounded to the other side only to feel her breath thundering out of her as she noticed a body face-down, floating in what was likely knee-deep muck. And they were not moving.

"Oh, dear God!"

They were too mud-drenched for her to make out any defining characteristics, but from the breadth of the shoulders, she guessed it was a male, and probably too large for her to drag out on her own.

" _Nox_." Drawing a breath and letting it out slow—she might not have time to spare for steadying her nerves, but the stolen wand would require _more_ focus to do its job effectively—she aimed at the body. " _Levicorpus_."

She could feel the wand fighting her a bit, but with an unsettling _mucky_ sort of sound, the body lifted from the frightfully large puddle. Backpedaling from the edge, she directed it to the ground at her feet.

" _Lumos_."

Hermione settled on her knees beside the man, her hand against his throat to check for his pulse. _There._ The thudding was surprisingly strong against her fingertips, despite the circumstances in which she'd found him. Okay, that was good.

As she cast a glance as his mud-slicked face, however, she recognized the features.

"Mr. Malfoy?" she whispered. Wincing, she looked about, as though expecting _anyone_ else to suddenly pop up and judge her for her heartbeat of hesitation.

Yet, hesitate she did. He was one of the people responsible for _all_ of this! She should . . . she should ruddy well put him right back where she found him and continue on her way!

But her own stupid conscience got in the way of that notion.

With a sigh at herself and a shake of her head, she shifted closer. As she leaned to check if he was breathing—time really was getting to be of the essence, here, but she seemed unable to force herself to act any faster—she noticed the mud had settled into a nasty, crescent-shaped wound on his forearm.

He'd been bitten by a werewolf?!

Either the bite was too much for him and he was dying, anyway, or it had happened too close to the full moon for the curse to take hold of him, just yet.

"What the hell happened after—?" Her gaze had swept up to his face as she spoke, cutting herself off as she found his grey eyes had snapped open and he was staring at her. Only . . . .

Only the grey of those eyes, in the light cast by her illuminated wand, were ringed and veined by bright _wolfish_ amber. Leaned close to him as she was, she didn't have the chance to back away in time.

His wounded arm slipped around her, that hand clamping the back of her neck as he grabbed her hand wand with the other. Uttering a low, threatening growl, he bolted upright and wrenched her against him.

She let loose a scream as he sank his teeth into the muscle between her neck and her shoulder. There seemed nothing human in him, that low, terrifying grumbling sound in his throat continuing as he bit down.

Almost instantly, the witch felt a bizarre disconnection from the moment. Her inner voice weary, she wondered if the brutal after-effects of a werewolf bite could be felt so soon, because it seemed she was already aware that she was fighting to stay conscious.

She knew he was more animal-like than man in his thinking at this moment, and if she tried to struggle in his hold, he would only sink his teeth in deeper.

The pain had her empty stomach turning itself inside-out, even as shock started to set in, taking the edge off everything.

Shuddering as she tried to force a gulp down her throat, she managed to mutter his name in an attempt to get through to him.

 _Mr. Malfoy . . . ?_

He heard a small voice saying his name. Though there was a strange, blurry sense that they were close, he couldn't help feeling the speaker stood far away.

As though he had to fight his way through some dense, red-tinged haze to make sense of what was happening. The last thing he recalled was Fenrir Greyback dragging him out of his own home like a pile of rubbish before the pain and disorientation from the bite had overwhelmed him, entirely.

And now he was . . . ?

"Mr. Malfoy?" a voice he thought he actually recognized whispered in halting way, the tone pleading and thick with tears. "Ple—please stop."

With a strange snapping sensation, he came back to his senses. He could taste blood in his mouth . . . he could feel his teeth sunk into something soft. He could hear the deafening beat of a pulse in his ears.

And then, he felt the weight of a body sagging against his.

Pulling back from whatever he'd just bitten into, he turned his head to spit out the blood before looking toward what had happened—toward what he'd done. He _had_ recognized that voice. Slumped against his chest was the Mudblood girl, her head tipped to one side and a bloody crescent-shaped wound near her neck. Any closer to her throat and he might've . . . .

He'd bitten her! Dear _God_. The bite hadn't killed him, and he'd just passed on his affliction. Looking at the state of himself and his surroundings, it wasn't difficult to deduce what had happened. He'd stumbled across the woods in a daze and fallen into that ruddy puddle. She'd clearly been trying to save him.

Her save _him_? Madness on the face of it, but there it was.

Even after everything he and his son had put her through, she'd thought to rescue him? And this was how he repaid that. Mudblood or not, he'd always thought himself better than stooping to something of that sort.

Shaking his head—this was certainly no time for wallowing in self-pity—he slid his hands from the back of her neck and her wrist to grasp her shoulders. Giving her a light shake, he said, "Miss Granger?"

She was unresponsive. Still breathing, but the way her head lolled as he'd moved her was disconcerting.

 _Damn._ He looked about the forest. There was no time to wonder how she'd even ended up here to trip over him like this. The Dark Lord wanted him dead, and Fenrir Greyback might come back at any time if he realized his victim _hadn't_ died.

And if he left his rescuer here—much as he wanted to tell himself her fate didn't concern him—she would be _right_ in Fenrir's path when he did come looking. He needed to find some place to hide. And, Miss Granger was terrifyingly intelligent. When she awoke, she might know what steps to take next.

He didn't bother troubling himself with the matter of _if_ she awoke.

Holding in a strangely natural-feeling growl at his circumstances, Lucius moved her once more, slipping his arms under her and climbing to his feet. He spared a moment to get his bearings as he stooped to pick up the wand she'd dropped.

Apparition was out of the question, given her injured state. He'd just infected her with the lycanthropy curse, he wasn't exactly trying to top that by potentially mangling her already terrible wound with magical travel.

He didn't know if he considered himself fortunate or damned that he could see clearly enough in the night-dark of the forest to not need an illumination spell to guide him as he set off in search of some safe place. Any place, really, to secret himself and the unconscious witch away until morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

When she awoke, it seemed every inch of her ached. So much worse than how she'd felt upon awaking in the tent that she couldn't recall the events of the evening. Even without any immediate memories, however, some instinct told her to hold very still.

Just barely refraining from forcing a gulp down her throat, she took stock of what she could sense. She heard crackling . . . water dripping and echoing. Perhaps she was in a cave? How the ruddy hell had she gotten into a cave? She could certainly smell a thick dampness in the air, scents like mildew, but also the strange not-wholly describable scent of water on stone. And smoke, that oddly sweet and rich scent of wood burning.

Okay, she thought sure she was in a cave with a fire going. Again, how the ruddy hell . . . ?

At last opening her eyes, she saw in front of her a figure crouched before a haphazardly-constructed firepit. With their back to her and the light from the flames blocked by their body, she couldn't make out their silhouetted features.

But, as she roamed over the person with her gaze, still immobile and trying to scrape together her recollections of the time after she'd left the tent, she spotted the wand on the ground beside him. The wand she'd nicked during the chaos in Malfoy Manor.

Eyeing the mysterious figure once more, Hermione crept forward the tiniest bit, intent on snatching up the weapon before her companion even noticed she'd awoken.

"I would not do that, were I you, Miss Granger."

Her eyes shot wide. The sound of Lucius Malfoy's voice—low, but echoing effortlessly off the walls of the cave to mingle with the crackling fire and dripping water—brought the memory of stumbling over him screaming back to her. She knew with a troubling immediacy that if she turned her head, she would be in agony from the bite he'd given her between her neck and shoulder. Remembered how fresh the bite she'd examined on his arm had been, and yet . . . .

Yet those eyes that had flashed at her before he'd sunk in his teeth had been strained with that wolfish golden-amber—and he'd had sharpened teeth to sink into her in the first bloody place! Not the signs of one who'd narrowly missed the curse taking hold, like Bill Weasley, no. This was something else. She knew she'd not moved in any way that was audible to her just now, but he'd still caught her movement, even with his back to her.

He'd only just been bitten, how was he already on the brink of his first transformation? It took days for the lycanthropy curse to manifest in its victims. And how was he holding himself there? Under the moon's sway, yet not transforming? None of what she'd witnessed thus far lined up with anything from her studies on werewolves.

"You and I are both aware my current instinctive responses aren't to be trusted," he went on, moving in a way that she thought indicated he was prodding at the fire before him.

"I . . . ." God, her voice came out sounding like her throat was made of sandpaper. "I don't understand. What happened to you? How are you already—?"

"How am I already turning?" he asked, his broad shoulders slumping. "I should've realized you'd seen the wound and would know it's new. Your guess is as good as mine, Miss Granger."

Wincing, she carefully raised a hand to press to the wound in her neck. There was a wadded bit of cloth pressed to it, sticking to the damp and ragged skin unpleasantly, but he'd tried to dress the wound, she supposed that counted for something. Even if he was the one who'd wounded her, he was someone whose pure-blood upbringing and lifestyle had likely not equipped him to learn first aid.

"I don't understand," she repeated, gingerly moving to sit up. As she did so, something fell away from her and she looked down to see a cloak pooled around her. It was mostly dry and she didn't recall him wearing one when she'd pulled him from the mud.

Ignoring the question of how or where he'd gotten it from, she focused on the more immediate thought that he'd attempted to bandage her wound and covered her. Here, she'd always been sure that if Lucius Malfoy had ever found her in a near-death state in the middle of a forest with no witnesses about—once more, putting aside that he was the reason for her near-death state—he'd have left her for dead without a second thought. It also seemed he's used magic to clean the mud and soil from them, both, as she and Mr. Malfoy each appeared spotless, if a bit bedraggled.

She would thank him once she had a handle on precisely what was happening. Maybe.

"We were punished," he answered with a shrug, still facing into the fire. "The Dark Lord was so enraged that Potter slipped his grasp, yet again, that he turned that rage on us. Killed Narcissa on the spot, and commanded Greyback to bite Draco."

Her eyes flashed wide. Two Malfoy werewolves running about? She let it go unsaid that perhaps a 'Malfoy Werewolf' should be its own classification, some sort of subspecies, if something in their family's physiology had them responding to the effects of the bite so fast. But . . . Mrs. Malfoy?

As she tried to scramble for something to say, some words of comfort to offer, he went on. "I . . . well, I believe the term 'snapped' applies to what happened next. I saw him charging at my son and suddenly I threw myself in his path."

"Oh." The word tumbled out of her mouth seemingly all on its own as her brows shot up. That was an unexpected show of bravery from the Malfoy patriarch.

"I know, I still hardly believe it myself," he said with a derisive laugh.

"But . . . ." Blinking hard, she shook her head. "What about Draco, then? Did he still . . . ?"

"No. In fact, the Dark Lord thought the bite was killing me. Instructed Greyback to drag me out of the house to die alone somewhere." His voice was low, but bland, as though he wasn't affected by recounting the events for her. "Sort of odd, I don't think I was conscious for it, but I'm almost certain Greyback stayed by my side until he was sure I was dead. Though . . . ."

She arched a brow, wondering what there could be to question about that. Clearly the werewolf stuck around to see if the job had been left unfinished! "Though?"

"I had the oddest impression he was hoping I'd pull through." Lucius looked over his shoulder at her, then. When he saw that she hadn't moved, saw how she kept her hand pressed to her poorly-bandaged wound, he sighed.

Climbing to his feet, he crossed to where she sat, the cloak he'd found discarded in the woods—likely from one of the poor fools Greyback had dragged before the Dark Lord and bitten to add to the werewolf army—still covering her from the waist-down. From the sound of her breathing, he could tell she was in pain. He wouldn't dare to think just now that he could tell something like that from someone's breath, or that he could hear her breath so acutely over the sounds of the cave and the fire.

She managed to squeak out a surprised sound as he bent to slip his arms beneath her and lifted her. Though she looked about rather than at him—rather an awkward moment given their dynamic, she thought—her hands reflexively gripped around his neck as he carried her to the fire.

Setting her down, he surprised her yet again by pressing the wand into one of her hands.

When she looked up at him in question as he returned to his original spot and sat down, he only offered another of his languid shrugs. "As I said before, my current instinctive responses are not to be trusted. I think we'll both feel a bit better if you've a way to defend yourself."

Swallowing hard, she nodded, flexing her fingers around the weapon. "So why not just go back?"

His brows drew upward as he met her gaze with a look of utter disbelief. After a few heartbeats, he started speaking in a slow and deliberate way, as though he suspected his bite might have addled her brain. "The Dark Lord was amused at the thought that the bite was killing me. If and he learns I've survived, one of two things will happen. He will have Greyback finish the job, or he will force me to exist as one of his precious werewolf army. He will use my disgraced state to further torment my son, who is currently his prisoner. No, Miss Granger. If I go back now, it will only make things worse for Draco. I believe at the moment, Greyback will have no desire to reveal his failure to the Dark Lord—his opinion of werewolves is low enough as it is. No. If I'm believed dead, he will see it as a clean break for my son. He will afford Draco the opportunity to stand in my stead and prove his worth to the Dark Lord's cause."

There was a moment of silence between them then, and she found herself shifting uncomfortably. "I'm sorry about Mrs. Malfoy," she said, her voice low. She tried not to consider that he didn't seem more broken up. Sure, she'd be the first person to lob a joke about Malfoys and the terrible trouble Healers must have during examinations trying to locate their tiny hearts, but she could not know what he was feeling, or what losing a spouse did to someone.

Lucius' mouth pulled to one side as he stared into the fire. Nodding to whatever he was thinking, he explained. "You likely think me cold that her murder is not weighing on me more, hmm?"

Her eyes shot wide once more and her jaw fell a bit. Nearly as though he'd read her bloody thoughts. As she scrambled to answer, she became strangely aware that she could tell by the sound of his breath and the thud of his pulse beneath his skin that he was not upset by what he assumed she was thinking.

That was . . . unsettling. As was the way the details of her surroundings became sharper. Odd. Nothing seemed brighter, but the shadows beyond the edge of the fire's light took on varying degrees of darkness. Subtle differences that allowed her to make out the shapes in the night-dark distance as though the area was illuminated.

Sidetracked by her notice of the differences in what her senses were telling her about their environment, she lost the opportunity to speak against his assumption.

"I am angered that she's gone, Miss Granger, because I should've prevented it. But she and I both knew going into this war, that it was not likely all three of us would survive." He exhaled a thoughtful sound. "I will miss her, yes, but . . . as close as we'd become during the course of our years together, it had never been a marriage built on love. A smart match, they'd call us. And we got on well enough, so arrangements were made. Friendship, understanding no one else would tolerate either of us," he paused to breathe out a short, quiet chuckle at that, "and the mutual love of the son we would eventually share kept us together as a family. But, you see, as I said, we knew we would not all make it out of this alive. I simply always thought it would be me."

"It's still terrible," Hermione said, her voice small and trembling as she turned her attention to the mouth of the cave, trying to gauge what her vision could register out there under the blanket of night. "To lose someone you've been so close with for so long."

He nodded, a mirthless smile curving his lips as he stared unblinking into the flames. "It is. I suspect my life is going to get very lonely very fast."

She was surprised to feel the way her heart sank at his tone. Yes, it should be easy to feel sympathy for someone in his position, but given who he was and the things he'd done? She'd expected compassion would've been harder to scrape together for him.

All at once, however, she was distracted from any further attempt at offering consolation as she realized how clear the darkness outside the cave was to her. As she realized she could actually hear things outside—animals scurrying through underbrush and damp leaves rustling against each other in the wind. Yet, the sounds inside the cave had not become louder, only sharper, more easily distinguishable. Their direction and distance discernible to her.

Swallowing around a sudden lump in her throat, she felt her eyes water with her confusion. She snapped her gaze over to lock on Lucius' face across the firelight. "What's happening to me?"

Meeting her eyes, he cursed softly under his breath. "So I did pass it to you?"

"I don't understand!" Her voice came out halting and barely audible as she watched him climb to his feet and circle that haphazard pit to sit beside her. "How is this happening so fast?"

"Again, as I said earlier, your guess is as good as mine." He reached for the bandage on her neck, his features pinching in an unexpected wash of anger when she batted at his hand and leaned away.

She spoke through clenched teeth as she regarded him. "I suspect there's something about your lineage you perhaps don't know that's caused the effects to take hold so quickly."

His nostrils flared at the slight against his family line, even while he made another attempt to reach for the bandage. "I only mean to check your wound," he said, his own voice slipping out in a lethal whisper.

Again, she moved to bat at his hand, but he caught her wrist in his free hand. He arched a brow at the little growl that rumbled out of her throat, strangely fueled by her aggression as he yanked the bandage from the wound.

There it was, as he watched her, as she bit out a sound that was an equal mix of anger and pain. Her eyes flashed amber. Bright, wolfish amber in the firelight.

The sight of it triggered his own eyes to change, somehow. The sound of her ragged breaths and her hammering heartbeat seemed to crawl across his skin. Baring his teeth, he let out a deep, rumbling growl of his own.

Hermione wasn't quite sure what exactly happened next, or how she'd gotten there, but she found herself in his lap. Found her arms twining around his neck as his hands raked at her clothes and his mouth covered hers in a savage kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"We can't do this," she said, breathless, even as she made no move to stop him, instead tipping her head back as he brought his mouth to her neck.

Lucius nodded, his own voice equally low and airy as he responded, his words muffled by the way he dragged his teeth along the side of her throat as he spoke, "Absolutely right, Miss Granger." Leaning back from her, he whipped her shirt off over her head and just about ripped her bra from her. "Get the bloody hell out of my lap!"

"Gladly." While she said it, she tangled her fingers through is hair, pulling him close once more. She couldn't believe she was guiding his head to her breast as she tacked on, "I hate you, anyway."

"That's just as well." He slid his arms around her, cupping her arse with splayed fingers and holding her tighter to him. "I hate you _just_ as much, I'm sure." He couldn't account for why he couldn't stop—why he couldn't _throw_ the woman off him, if that's what it took—as he followed her urging, scrapping the edge of his teeth over her nipple before closing his lips around it and suckling.

Hermione bit her lip, holding back a moan at the sweet rippling sensation the working of his mouth against her skin sent coursing through her. She had no idea why she didn't push him away instead of trying to hold him closer. No idea why she didn't jump out of his reach, hurl something at him, snatch up her wand and stun him, run from the cave . . . . Anything to put distance between them, yet her body seemed to have a mind of its own, even a portion of her thoughts was cheering on this moment. That portion was a little, strangely feral-sounding voice.

That voice reminded her of the way his irises had flooded amber in response to hers. Reminded her that he'd bitten her, what she was becoming was because of him, and he was becoming something the world might not be ready for just yet. They both were. They were somehow, inextricably, in this together it told her, so that made this moment right in some mad way. Necessary.

Yet, the rational part of her that seemed to have no control over the situation whatsoever—and was starting to lose confidence that it _wanted_ any control—had her continuing to speak, even as she slid her hands down from his hair to start pulling his robes open. "We . . . we have to stop, Mr. Malfoy. This is . . . so, _so_ wrong."

"Very, very wrong," he admitted, lifting his head to meet her gaze. Yes, just as that voice rumbling in the back of his thoughts had told him, her eyes were still wolf-like, still that blazing golden-amber. He knew his reflected them.

She retreated from his lap, then. Yet, it was not the reprieve either of their rational sides were hoping for. The witch lay herself back, the strange, new wildness in her prompting the change in position when she'd felt his fingers scrambling to open her jeans.

He grabbed the sides of his robes from where she'd tugged them apart and threw them off, still trying to force some logic into the situation that would snap them both out of this. The scent of her, the sight of her eyes so fierce like this, even the little growling sounds rumbling from the back of her throat every so often all seemed to be driving his actions, regardless of the words falling from his lips. "You're my son's classmate!"

Hermione unbuttoned her jeans, lifting her hips to assist as he unzipped them and gripped his fingers into the top. "You've been a widower less than a damn day!"

Lucius wrenched her jeans and knickers clean off her in one harsh movement. "You're a Mudblood."

"And you're a cowardly egotist!" she snapped the retort as he parted her thighs, her arms once more slipping around his neck to grip her hands into the pale locks at the nape of his neck.

"If I were so cowardly, Miss Granger," he said, growling the words as she locked her legs around his hips, "neither of us would be in this mess!"

"Well . . . " She bit back a mangled sound of discomfort as he positioned himself and jerked his hips, hard, entering her. "You're . . . you're _still_ an egotist." As he withdrew and moved into her again and again, the discomfort subsided, replaced by a decadent, shivery sensation that had little purring sounds escaping her.

His breath erupted in grunting pants as he continued driving into her, that damn primal urging in the back of his mind shouting in something like triumph when she started rocking her hips, complimenting his thrusts. "As are you. Thinking yourself better than pure-bloods because of some intellectual advantage."

"And you think you're better than Muggleborns because of your blood-status. At least . . . . Oh, _God_ . . . ." She ducked her head, raking her teeth along the column of his throat as he quickened his pace. "At least my reason for being an egotist has some real-world value."

He barked out a chuckle that was sheer anger as he answered in a rough half-bellow, "Being a pure-blood _is_ valuable!"

Shifting backward, he sat up, pulling her with him as he moved. She just about screamed as he guided her hips to rock over him in grinding motions. "Only in the equally _deluded_ minds of other pure-bloods."

Growling, he thrust into her harder, still, relishing the ecstatic, whimpering sounds the rougher movements forced out of her. "I've heard just about enough out of you!"

"And I you. You're so bloody arrogant!" She ignored that her voice came out haltingly, her breath rushing in noisy little bursts.

Disentangling her fingers from his hair, she slid her hands down, over her shoulders and across his chest. Slipping her hands beneath his arms, she pressed her palms against his back. Hermione could feel her fingers curling against his heated skin, digging her nails into his shoulder blades. The change in position helped her lock her muscles, stilling her against his strokes.

It seemed every part of her was screaming now, for different reasons. Her feral side was cheering in relief at having given herself over to this. Her rational side still didn't quite know how this had all happened. There was a little sliver in the middle, telling her that while this was wholly unfamiliar to her, she'd read enough about well, _everything_ , to know precisely why her limbs were tensing like this. And that it was her 'nifty' new instincts that had directed her in how to respond to it all.

"And you're undeservedly self-righteous!" Lucius managed to get that last retort out as he rammed himself into her one final time, the motion so sharp and jarring that for a flickering heartbeat, he thought he'd hurt her.

When a downright feral sound of satisfaction wrenched out of her, that concern fled. He ducked his head down, littering her breasts with rough nips and teasing bites as he spent himself. Her own orgasm kept her clenched deliciously tight around him as his teeth scraped her skin, leaving angry, reddish-pink marks in his wake.

Hermione was trembling as the blissful sensation began drifting away from her. Instinct drove her once more, guiding her to rock against him as the tension drained from his body, trying to hold on to the feeling.

When the very last fragment of her orgasm had slipped away, she collapsed in his arms.

For far too long, neither of them moved, each of them seemingly afraid of what uncontrollable thing they might do next. The cave was filled with the sound of their rushing breaths as they let their bodies wind down, both still refusing to budge a muscle by the time their pulses had steadied.

After another stretch of who knew how long, she murmured, "I think I'm tired, again."

"Well, yes, we should probably sleep now," he agreed, his own voice low, a tone as though he was questioning every second word out of his own mouth running beneath it.

Turning with the witch still in his lap, he pulled the cloak he'd draped over her earlier closer. Spreading it out like a blanket, he laid her down and then all but threw himself down on his back beside her.

"I've a question, Mr. Malfoy," she started as he pulled his robes over them, concealing their bare forms from the open air as best he could.

Sighing, he closed his eyes. "Is it 'what the _bloody hell_ just happened?'"

Hermione laughed tiredly. "That'd be it."

"As seems a theme for this entire fiasco, Miss Granger, I'll once more tell you your guess is as good as mine."

"No, but seriously. I think it would do us both some good to figure this out. Whatever is happening to you, you've passed it to me. Whether we like it or not, it seems we might be stuck together."

His eyes shot wide as he stared up at the rocky ceiling above. "Merlin's beard, you're _right_."

"I know I am!" Before she could go on, a thought struck her. "Wait, wait. Look at me, are my eyes still all . . . wolfy?"

Turning his head, Lucius met her gaze. "It's fading, now."

She nodded. "Yours, too. But I first felt it happen when I got angry with you. Okay, so passionate emotions. Anger, and just now when we were . . . ." The witch bolted upright suddenly, gripping her hands into her wild hair. "Oh, my _God_! I just shagged my classmate's father!"

Lucius almost snickered. He didn't particularly find their predicament humorous, but he had a feeling what they'd just done was going to be the least of their concerns moving forward, so to have the typically level-headed young woman panicking about this one facet of their situation was . . . . Wait . . . .

He tilted his head against the ground, casting a her a sidelong look. "You're not in one of those special circumstances where you're . . . younger than your school year, are you?"

Hermione, unable to believe she found his question funny at a time like this, choked out a laugh. She'd be a legally consenting adult by Wizarding and Muggle law standards even if she _had_ been younger than Draco, but the fact that Mr. Malfoy was trying to reassure himself about it was funny to her, somehow. Of course, it wouldn't have been too funny to _him_ , but that only made it more amusing. "I'm actually nearly a year older than most of my classmates. September birthday, and all that."

"Ah."

"Although . . . ." She bit her lip in an awkward expression as she turned her head, her eyes meeting his over her shoulder. Well, now that she was relatively collected and her sitting up like that had whipped the robes up, exposing him to her gaze, she was having trouble not noticing that Lucius Malfoy was surprisingly—pleasingly, _blushingly_ —fit.

His eyes narrowed. "Although?"

Her brows drew upward in a pained look as she said, "Um, well, I might be an adult for all intents and purposes, but . . . up until, oh, I dunno, forty-five minutes ago, I was a virgin."

Lucius' eyes widened all over again. " _No_."

Unable to help a giggle at his reaction, she nodded. The moment was strangely light-hearted given the reality of things. "I's true."

He sat up, searching her face. "Why aren't you furious with me, then?"

Hermione pinched her brows together as she waited for his attention to return to her eyes. "You didn't force me, so why should I be furious with you?"

"Young women are supposed to want their first time to be—"

"Let me stop you right there, sir," she said, pressing her fingers over his lips. "I was raised as a Muggle, by progressive-minded Muggle parents. I understand that treating women no different than men is perhaps a rather new, startling, terrifying concept for the Wizarding world, but it's not for me. This might not have been ideal, I grant you that, but to imagine I have to hold out for some special day just because I'm a female is absurdity on the face of it. Young men can lose their virginity at the spur of the moment with any ol' person and get cheered on. But a young woman who behaves even a _little_ in that same fashion is chastised and vilified. Well, no sir! I'll not have that sort of treatment."

He merely stared back at her, his expression patient as he waited for her to remove her hand from his mouth. When she did, he nodded. It didn't quite sit right with him—he didn't think anyone should behave in the way she just mentioned—but he supposed she had a point. "Well said, Miss Granger."

"Thank you."

"But I was more meaning the person you were with."

"Oh." She let out an unconvincingly airy laugh at that. Shaking her head, Hermione found herself sniffling. "Well, yes . . . I suppose that was never going to happen, now, anyway. The person I imagined those things with died in your house yesterday."

Swallowing hard, he nodded. Weasley. "It's probably not worth very much to you, but you have my condolences."

"Oh, please. You hate that whole family."

"Doesn't mean I want to see them all dead, Miss Granger. And it also doesn't mean I can't sympathize with your pain."

"I suppose not. That was shortsighted of me to assume." Once more, she met his gaze, trying for a change of subject. "I didn't mean it as an insult, you know. What I said about something in your family line causing the curse to take hold faster? I wasn't trying to provoke you. I was trying to understand how this could possibly happen."

He nodded, suspiciously quiet before he said, "You must be right about the emotions part. Your eyes are changing again."

Again Hermione sniffled and nodded back. She could feel the tears welling in her eyes. The very same tears she told herself just last night she didn't have the time or freedom to shed.

The surprises were not over, it seemed, as Lucius, driven by that primal voice from earlier—insistently whispering something to the effect of his female was upset, it was his place to offer comfort, of _all_ notions to have, for pity's sake—tugged her against him, letting her rest her head against his bare shoulder.

She let herself weep for a little while. God, this was a mess. Ron dead, Harry missing, her a newly-changed werewolf who'd just shagged one of their enemies! And she knew the very same unspoken truth he did. Things were only going to get stranger moving forward.

"So," he said after she'd quieted, his voice barely above a whisper. "It wasn't 'ideal', you said?"

Aware he was trying to bring levity to the moment with a version of the 'how was it' question she knew many people asked after sex, she couldn't help but laugh. And then something else came crashing down on them both in that moment. The spontaneity of the whole thing left little room for . . . _preparation_.

"Oh, no." She roved her gaze about as she started, "um, we didn't—"

"I don't believe either of us had the presence of mind to cast a contraceptive charm at the time, Miss Granger."

"Well, it's still early. Do you think it would still work if we cast one now?"

The wizard looked positively thunderstruck by their moment of mutual stupidity. "Perhaps? Pregnancy is hardly instantaneous."

"Okay." She swallowed hard, jutting her chin over his shoulder at where her wand rested against the ground.

"Once that's done, we really should get some rest." Nodding, he turned, speaking as he reached for it. "If we're going to figure out what to do next, then we're going to need our wits about—" His words slid off as both he and Hermione snapped their heads in the direction of the cave's entrance.

"You heard it, too?" she asked, her question almost unintelligible for how low she spoke.

Lucius nodded. Turning his head to catch her gaze—both their eyes had gone back to amber now at the sounds approaching the cave—he gestured toward her clothes and mouthed the word, _Quietly_ , before pointing in the direction of the wall beside the opening.

She nodded back, moving in shocking silence as he started pulling on his robes.


End file.
